


Food Always Tastes Better When You're on the Brink of Dumping Your Boyfriend For It

by SomeBratInAMask



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Double Date, Drabble, Five Guys, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:31:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeBratInAMask/pseuds/SomeBratInAMask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After it turns night at the lake, Alfred, Gil, Vincent, and Matt take refuge from mosquitoes in Five Guys, home of "the best five dollar burger a man can eat." That's because fries will ruin your relationship and practically any food is "the best" when sold alongside those homewrecking potatoes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food Always Tastes Better When You're on the Brink of Dumping Your Boyfriend For It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cookieprusiana](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cookieprusiana).



> For cookieprusiana (http://cookieprusiana.tumblr.com/), warrior lord of PruAme who seems to single-handedly sail the ship at times. May your endeavors to populate their tag with fans be nothing short of Awesome.
> 
> (Also, Vincent, really? Do you know how many Tim Hortons NedCan jokes you have eliminated the opportunity for with that headcanon? Tsk.)

Peanuts fused with salt and ketchup in the condensed, sweaty air inside Five Guys. Retro jazz had Gil drumming his fingers on the vaguely stained tabletop to a medley of drunken instrumentals and buzzing customers. Alfred drew a thick potato wedge from the grease-heavy brown paper bag, half into the air when a mouth snatched it from his hand.   
  
Gil reclined into the hard plastic of the stool, it digging into his spine as he crossed his hands behind his neck, wagging the fry up and down between his teeth.   
  
Alfred motioned in a 'what gives' fashion, face incredulous. "What the hell, Charybdis?" It was a struggle to keep his lips from trembling, so he hid his smile by licking the gratuitous salt from his fingers.   
  
Gil shrugged, positioning the fry so it dangled like a cigarette on his bottom lip. "You were taking too long to eat it. Kept waving that fry in the air like you wanted some guy to take it from you," he grinned.  
  
"I barely had it out of the bag!" Alfred's pitch heightened, smiling guilelessly now.  
  
Gil leaned over the table, forearms brushing against Alfred's elbows. His voice lowered just enough to still be heard over the conversations from nearby seats. "Of course, how else were you planning to tease me?" Alfred bounced forward and bit half the fry from Gil's mouth, waving it back at him. Gil's grin widened.   
  
"No! You always get the last fry!" Matt protested, eyes bugging out like an indignant frog. Alfred swallowed the French fry.  
  
"Trouble in paradise, guys?" He said to the table over.   
  
Vincent held a faintly burnt, diminutive, runt-of-the-fryer potato wedge. Matt held a very disgusted face. He glanced briefly at Al with a roll of his eyes, offering up his palms. "He always does this. He insists we share a meal, and then he eats it all!" Matt looked more distressed than any father Alfred had ever seen on Springer.   
  
Vincent didn't move. He didn't want to risk having to drive an upset boyfriend home after his brother had paid for most of their day at the lake. But he also really wanted the French fry. "It's cheaper."  
  
Matt dipped his chin, eyebrows raised in challenge. "To starve me?" Gil flickered his eyes between Vincent and Matt, and Al, deciding whether this was funny or about to be uncomfortable, and hoping for social cues from his boyfriend.  
  
Who was concentrating on chipping at a peanut shell.   
  
"You won't starve if you don't get the French fry," Vincent calmly reminded.  
  
Matt folded his arms petulantly. "Neither will you."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, I want the last French fry, jerk."  
  
Vincent withdrew a tired breath. "How about," he propositioned, "we use a knife to cut the fry in half?"  
  
Matt snorted. Alfred's ears perked from his peanut task, a particular fan of Matt making immature noises. They were as rare as he wished Gil's cooking was. Matt sneered. "Cut that little thing in half?" He jerkily nodded at the poor fry in a way that might've damaged its self esteem, had it not previously been ripped from its root, skinned, segmented, and fried. "You'd split an atom," quipped Matt.   
  
Vincent sighed impatiently. "How else are we supposed to solve this?"  
  
"I've got an idea." Gil spoke up and, reaching over, plucked the fry from Vincent and ate it. Both Vincent and Matt looked utterly confounded.  
  
"What, you just, why would you?" The issue, for once, was not actually that Matt didn't know what to say. He knew exactly what to say; just not what to say first. His brain rushed to organize his filter. The stuff with vulgarity could be saved for the car.   
  
Vincent's jaw slackened, staring at Gil unbelieving. "That was our French fry." Gil blinked in ponder, then nodded at Alfred approvingly.  
  
"You hear that, babe? It's _their_ French fry. Theirs, together. I am excellent mediator. I should be employed at a law firm, immediately, right now."  
  
Alfred scoffed, but was smiling. "Try getting a job first."  
  
Gil gasped. "Excuse you, I am currently occupied by the local lifeguards that help keep our waters safe from man-wrestling sharks and the occasional speed-boat wave. I am awesome. I am a career man."  
  
"That's real great, Gil," congratulated Matt. "What about our French fry?" Vincent nodded somberly in agreement. Alfred barked a laugh, fist slapping the table happily and cracking open his peanut shell.  
  
Alfred's face burst into sunshine. He fist pumped. "Ha!"  
---


End file.
